So one time I was home alone and it was around dinnertime when I chose to cook something for myself. I opened the freezer and rummaged around until I found what looked like chicken nuggets in an unopened plastic bag that, for some reason, didn’t have any cooking instructions. Assuming my parents had thrown away the box for box tops, I called my mom to ask about the time and temperature for cooking chicken nuggets. She told me both of them, I laid out about 20 on a tray and stuck it in the oven, setting the timer before I walked out of the kitchen. As the timer was about to go off, I entered a kitchen that smelled like cinnamon. I searched all over that kitchen, trying to find the cinnamon scent, leading me to the oven. I turned on the oven light to see if my mom had maybe left some cookies in there, but to my surprise, the tray I had put chicken nuggets on now had cookies on it!. As I’m trying to process what just happened, I hear the front door open and my mom shout delightedly, “Ooooo what’s that smell?”. She entered the kitchen and noticed my bewildered expression. That’s when the spark ignited and she realized exactly what had happened. Somehow, I had inadvertently baked snickerdoodles. And that is why my parents can never take my cooking seriously.